


How Not to put your life Back Together

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Realisations, angsty angst, plottiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stone Giants tearing apart the mountain, arch enemies trying to kill you, realising that you were the biggest idiot in Middle Earth...all in a day's work, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not to put your life Back Together

Thorin hadn't been able to stop himself from snapping at Bilbo as they left Rivendell. Perhaps it had been a low blow, but then he'd been genuinely surprised when Bilbo had followed him out of the city along with the rest, the Elves distracted by the White Council and all its supposed importance. 

He was still smarting from the night before, and hadn't slept for a moment. How could he, when the bed still smelled of Bilbo, of their coupling, even of the Elvish soap that Bilbo had been using since they'd arrived. And yet, for all that it smelled like him, he hadn't been there. It had been cold and devoid of life, and Thorin had hated it. He'd packed all his things quickly and left the room, leaving the newly opened vial of oil on the bedside table. It's not as if he'd be needing it. 

He had walked the paths of Rivendell as the night wore on, knowing that he'd pay for it the next day but he'd been unable to stop. The confusion of his mind and the aching in his chest had made rest impossible. Thorin was a Dwarf of action, reflection was not something that came easy to him, for all that a King was supposed to be wise and above pettiness. 

And yet, Thorin could claim neither. A wiser Dwarf would not have lost his temper at his lover, simply for pointing out a few undeniable truths, however unwelcome such truths were. A King above pettiness would not have hurled insults only half meant, not really believed, in an attempt to deflect the truth of those well spoken words. 

For the first time, Thorin had hated the fire that had lit Bilbo's eyes. Fire could warm and keep one safe, after all, but it could also burn and destroy, leaving one hollowed out inside. Why Thorin had needed to learn this lesson a second time, he didn't know. He had clearly learned nothing from Smaug.

The truth was, he'd realized in an instant just how much Bilbo had come to mean to him, and the truth was terrifying. The moment itself had meant nothing, a moment much like so many they had shared between them, rather, it had been Thorin's thoughts that had betrayed him. 

He'd imagined, in that moment, doing this for years to come. He'd imagined Erebor, once more reflecting the strength and beauty of Durin's line, freed from all traces of treachery and destruction. He had seen himself triumphant, proudly wearing his Grandfather's crown, a true King, victorious. Free from insecurity, from pain, from the burden of his people's suffering. 

Beside him, ever present, ever within arm's reach, he'd seen a Hobbit. Not dressed as he was now, in worn and increasingly tattered travel clothes, but in the finest fabrics the treasury could buy, clean, and heart achingly beautiful. 

He'd seen the King's chambers, filled with the life of more than just one, strewn with books he'd never read and trinkets he cared nothing for, excepting the joy they'd brought the one who kept them. 

He'd seen Bilbo.

In that moment, his fingers buried deep inside as Bilbo squirmed into them, Thorin knew that this was different. That it had been different from the very start. Balin had been right, damn him. Thorin didn't know just how far he was into it yet, but he knew that it was far. 

Too far. 

He couldn't envision a future that did not have Bilbo in it, he didn't want to. And yet, how could Bilbo be in his future, after the quest, at Erebor? It didn't make any sense, it didn't fit. As Bilbo had said, he was a Baggins, of Bag End. There was no room for Erebor in his life. No room for Thorin. Not once his task was complete. 

That was when Bilbo had called his name, snapping him out of his trance and back to reality. He had pulled his fingers out and moved forward quickly, pressing his cock into Bilbo, the cleft of his ass welcoming Thorin's erection as if it had been made to be there. That's when he surged forward, taking Bilbo hard and fast, more brutal and punishing than he ever had ever been. Some small, dark part of him wanted to hurt Bilbo for making him feel this way...for making him _feel_. But mostly, he just wanted to loose himself in the sensation of Bilbo’s smooth, silky flesh, so different than his. It was soft and bare, strange and unique without the hair that covered most of a Dwarf's body, most of Thorin's body. Bilbo was so very different, and so very, very exceptional.

Thorin wanted to live there. He collapsed on Bilbo, stunned and shaken as the feelings coursed through him. He rolled away, his chest tight and painful, his head spinning and yet blank, unfocused and thoughtless. Balin was right. It wasn't Bilbo's heart that had been touched, it wasn't Bilbo who would be hurt by this. 

This was Thorin's problem. 

He had no time for such a distraction. The Quest for Erebor had been a long time coming, and now that he was living it, he could not afford to be weak, he could not afford to cast aside everything he'd worked so hard for. 

He could not afford to love.

So, he'd pushed Bilbo away. He'd allowed his anger at Bilbo's well deserved chastisement to grow, and he'd let it explode. It had worked in the end, he'd accomplished what he'd meant to. 

Bilbo wouldn't look to him again. He would avoid Thorin, fulfil his contract and then go home. And then Thorin could forget the whole thing. 

The plan had worked. So why was Bilbo still haunting Thorin's mind? Why was he plagued by thoughts of him, of his anger and his hurt, why could he not erase the shock and disgust on Bilbo's face as Thorin had stormed out of the room. Why was he plagued by thoughts of Bilbo, of how he fit into Thorin's arms, of how he felt and how he smiled, and the generous way he gave of himself, freely, with no thoughts of a return. 

Thorin lifted his eyes to the sky and prayed that Mahal would take this from him. These thoughts, these feelings. They had no place in him, no place on this quest. 

And yet, they persisted. Clearly, the plan hadn't worked. He may have been successful at driving Bilbo away, but he'd have to work harder at driving out this weakness. Perhaps if he drove Bilbo further away, it would pass. They didn't need a burglar anyway, did they? Nori was an accomplished thief, after all, and Kili was small and light on his feet, as was Ori. 

They could do without Bilbo. It was better for them all if they could be rid of him. 

 

* * *

 

The mood of the Company was subdued in the days after leaving Rivendell. Bilbo was very good at acting as if nothing was different, but the Dwarves were not. They were distracted and distant, spending the majority of their down time in family groups, with Bilbo attached to Bofur's side like a burr. It grated at Thorin to see it, but he didn't know what else he'd been expecting. Bilbo, for his part, hadn't acknowledged Thorin's presence since their argument, his mood infuriatingly calm. He was almost cheerful.

It made Thorin want to scream. Or hit someone. Or both. 

Thorin wished he could possess some of that calm. He was walking a knife line between fury and sorrow, dragging himself closer to the mountain pass with every step, burdened by his missteps and his arrogant assumptions. Every day brought them closer to the mountains, every day a little further from Bag End, where he was determined to send Bilbo back as soon as possible. 

He couldn't send him home outright...that would be far too blatant, over the top, even for Thorin. But he could make things so uncomfortable for Bilbo that he'd want to go home. 

Thorin wasn't proud of himself. However, desperate times called for desperate actions, and Thorin was desperate. He needed Bilbo gone. 

 

* * *

 

And then the Stone Giants had appeared, and Thorin's hard fought control had shattered, tearing him apart from the inside. He'd thought, for the worst few moments of his life, that Fili had died there on that mountain side. He'd thought him crushed, lifeless and falling down the mountain, his golden smiles and his frenetic energy lost forever. The rage had taken over and he'd bellowed his pain, darkness covering him in grief. Grief, as it had turned out, that was completely unnecessary. 

When he rounded the path to find Fili there, with the others, alive and unharmed, his heart had begun pounding again, his muscles weak with relief, the rage still coursing through him even as his eyes had swept over Fili, still unable to believe that he was fine. 

He'd hardly spared a moment for Fili, or Kili, on the journey from the Hidden Valley. He'd been so swept up in his own head, in his swirling thoughts conflicting emotions, that he'd all but ignored everyone, including his sister sons. He'd been unfair to them, and he'd almost lost one, almost lost his heir, the one on whom he placed all his hopes for Erebor's future. The one he'd lost his heart to in an instant, 82 years ago when the squalling bundle had been placed in his arms by the lad's father. 

Fili and Kili meant more to him than any other creatures in Middle Earth, and he was humbled to think that he'd so very narrowly missed being consumed once more by the torture of loss. 

It was in that moment when the relief had crashed onto him, restarting his heart, the rage still coursing through his blood, that he'd hear Bofur's shout. 

Where was Bilbo?

In all his confusion and terror, he'd failed to realize that Fili wasn't the only piece of his heart that had been on that oh so precarious ledge. He'd turned, stunned to see only the tips of Bilbo's fingers clinging to the sheer face of the rock. He'd seen Bilbo's face lost in a look of terror, a look that was so, so much worse than the one he'd worn in the clutches of the trolls.

Bilbo was going to fall.

Bofur and Ori yelled, both scrambling for him, but he fell even further, and they could not pull him up. The despair poured through Thorin anew, but his instinct had kicked in, his mind searching for something he could do...he'd moved, not thinking, his eyes scanning the situation and finding the solution, even as his body put the plan into action. 

He'd jumped off the cliff onto a tiny ledge, one hand gripping a small hand hold, the other reaching out and grabbing Bilbo's jacket, all the strength in his muscles straining as he tossed the small form upwards, trusting that Bofur and Ori would catch him this time.

They did, but then Thorin's foot had slipped and he'd fallen, certain in that spilt second that it was the end, that this is how he'd pay for his errors and his crimes, by falling to his death, secure in the knowledge that both Fili and Bilbo were safe. 

Thankfully, Dwalin had other ideas, his quick reflexes and sheer upper body strength had been sufficient to pull Thorin to safety. The Company stopped, all frozen by the shock of the last few moments, of the series of close calls that had almost torn them apart for good. 

Thorin was shaking with adrenaline, with fear and rage, as he heard someone, he couldn’t even tell who, proclaim, 'we almost lost our burglar!'

“He's been lost,” Thorin snarled, the words bubbling up in his throat and spilling out his mouth before he'd known that they were inside him, “ever since he left home.” He panted, his body shaking, his mind in chaos. 

“He should never have come,” he continued, ignoring the shocked looks and glares from his Company. “He has no place amongst us.” With that he turned away, calling Dwalin to follow him, ignoring the sickening roil of his insides. 

 

* * *

 

The floor of the cave was sandy and dry, something that Bilbo was very grateful for. Despite not having a fire, it was fairly warm as well...fourteen sweaty, damp bodies in a relatively small space made things heat up rather quickly. The sand covering the floor was much more comfortable than the bare ground and rock they'd been sleeping on for the last few days. 

As relatively comfortable as it was, Bilbo found sleep eluding him. The events of the day kept playing over in his mind, cycling from one fiasco to the next, all converging on the words that Thorin had spat at him, after both of them had almost lost their lives on the cliff face. 

As horrible as the words were, as harsh and cruel and patently true, Bilbo's mind kept one phrase at the forefront of his thoughts, one phrase that summed it all up neatly. The phrase that had pushed Bilbo into the decision that had informed the action he was preparing to take. 

_He should never have come._

Thorin was right. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn't have let Gandalf's admonishments about his Took ancestry, about his exciting, eccentric childhood sway him into consideration. He shouldn’t have let Thorin's beautiful voice and all encompassing sexual presence overtake any rational thought and push him out of his door. He should never have come. 

Promise or not, contract or not, he couldn't stay, not for another moment. Thorin had made it clear that he wasn't wanted, and however low his opinion of Bilbo was, leaving wasn't going to help improve it. In the end, improving Thorin's opinion of him was not a priority, and while Bilbo would miss his friends and would always wonder about them, he couldn't stay. 

It was too much to ask of anyone. 

When he was certain that all the Dwarves were asleep, he got up, rolling up his bedroll and making sure he had everything. Some would be surprised to find him gone in the morning, but Thorin wouldn't be one of them. He'd probably be relieved.

He snuck past several of his sleeping friends and was about to leave the cave when Bofur called out. Bilbo cursed himself for forgetting. Of course someone would be on watch. He turned to face his friend, oddly grateful that he would get the chance to say goodbye, to Bofur at least. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Bofur asked. 

“Back to Rivendell,” Bilbo said simply, hoping he wouldn't have to explain his reasons. 

“No, no you can't! You're part of the Company! You're one of us!” Bofur was insistent, and Bilbo wondered if he really believed that. 

“But I'm not, am I? Gandalf had to convince you all to take me on and Thorin has been clear about his feelings on the subject, despite...everything else. He's right, I should never have left The Shire.”

“No, he's...having you with us has been a blessing, Bilbo. Gandalf is the one who's right...we need you.”

“No Bofur, I don't think you do. And I can't stay in these conditions, do you understand? It was bad enough before, but now, Thorin is...I can't stay here another minute. I miss my home, and my books, and...and to have left it all behind to be treated like that...I can't stand it. Not anymore.”

Bofur sighed, his face falling as what Bilbo had said sunk in. 

“I understand,” he said, his expressive face leaving no doubt as to how he was feeling. “I'll miss you. We all will.”

“I'll miss you. Some of you more than others,” Bilbo said with a twist of his lips. “But it's for the best.”

Bofur reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, his affection for his friend causing Bilbo's eyes to sting with unshed tears. 

“I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do,” he said, and Bilbo gave him a sad smile, clasping his hand before turning to leave.

“Wait,” Bofur said, and Bilbo turned to look at him. “What's that?” He pointed to Bilbo’s hip, where his sword hung on his belt. Bilbo pulled it out and looked, astounded to see that the blade was glowing blue. 

“Wake up!” Thorin bellowed, shocking all of the Dwarves awake, as the sand down the centre of the cave began to slip through a crack. Bilbo wondered for a split second if Thorin had been awake during his conversation with Bofur, but before he could ponder the thought further, the floor disappeared from under him and he fell. 

 

* * *

 

The Goblin tunnels were nasty, disgusting, reeking channels through never ending rock, and Bilbo hated them. He thought he'd never been happier in all his life than when he saw Gandalf and the Dwarves run by, despite the fact that Gollum was between him and freedom. 

He may have been ready to leave them before, but he had no doubt that his only choice now was to follow them. Making his way back through the mountains underground, even with a magic ring of invisibility, wasn't even a consideration to him. Such an idea would no doubt be folly. Besides, Bilbo wanted to know they were all safe. Even Thorin.

So he followed. While he was running down the mountain, he couldn’t believe his luck, luck that he'd made it out, luck that they had as well, luck that he'd found the ring...the perfect tool with which to make his escape. Now, he'd have to decide where to go from here. Leaving the Dwarves would not be so easy now that they'd crossed over, or rather, under, the Misty Mountains. 

He approached the group at last, their voices raised, arguing about Bilbo's whereabouts, and who was to blame for losing him. Then he heard Thorin, and his will hardened. Took his chance to leave, had he? Perhaps he had been going to, and it seemed, given his words, that Thorin had been awake, that he'd heard Bilbo’s whispered conversation with Bofur. He knew that Bilbo had been planning to leave. Well, Bilbo had no choice now. He had his pride, after all, small though it may be.

He'd never let Thorin have the satisfaction of driving him away again. Not now. He pulled the ring off, slipped it into his pocket and stepped out from behind the tree.

“No, he isn't,” he said, glaring straight at Thorin when he said it. Thorin's stunned face at his appearance was absolutely worth staying for. He was clearly gobsmacked, which pleased Bilbo greatly. 

The others breathed sighs of relief, smiling and cheering at Bilbo's reappearance. He greeted them all, but was reluctant to tell them exactly how he'd escaped. He wasn't sure he wanted them to know about the ring. It would be much more convenient to keep the fact that he could turn invisible a secret. Who knows how such an ability could come in handy. 

Fortunately, he didn't have to tell them because, instead of demanding an explanation, Thorin asked him why he'd come back, with a soft, wondering voice, his face open and vulnerable. So Bilbo told him the truth. Well, a carefully crafted version of it. One that was true, if not the whole truth. 

He looked at Thorin while he spoke. Thorin was the only one with a grudge against him, it was he who needed to hear it the most. When he'd finished, he'd fixed Thorin with a look, one that he hoped would tell him that no, he wouldn't be putting up with Thorin's asinine behaviour any longer. He would fulfil his contract, he would follow Thorin as leader, but he would never again let Thorin treat him as lesser, or as a burden. Even if he wasn't as experienced as the rest. 

Thorin looked suitably chastised, which was enough for Bilbo. He nodded softly and lowered his head, looking back up at Bilbo with wondering eyes, eyes that held warmth inside for Bilbo once more, for the first time since that fateful night in Rivendell. The regard left Bilbo feeling a bit awkward, although he couldn't hold back a little smile. Perhaps things wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

And then they'd heard the warg howls. 

 

* * *

 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire indeed. They were trapped.

And there was Azog. 

Thorin felt his blood run cold, how could it be? How could he be alive? The spiked prong embedded in his arm gave testament to their last encounter, and yet, he'd lived. 

Thorin saw how quickly a pack of wargs could take down trees as small as the ones they were taking shelter in, forcing them into retreat. He searched, helpless, for a way out, but he could find none. When Gandalf had lit the pinecones and rained them down on the wargs, the relief was temporary at best. The whole area had been set ablaze and the wargs driven back, but that was when the tree had given way. The fall was long. Far longer than was necessary to kill them all.

He hadn't even had time to reflect on Bilbo's return. On his honest, generous assurance of his loyalty. On his intense, determined gaze that had told Thorin, in no uncertain terms, just how much of a backbone he had, just how much fire filled him, smouldering softly like an ember until something made it flare up. That look had told him just how much of Thorin's crap Bilbo was going to take from here on out. And considering that Bilbo had been on his way out the door when all this had happened, the fact that he was still with them was miraculous. 

Far from being annoyed that his supposed plan hadn't worked in the end, he was utterly relieved. At least now, he knew that Bilbo was safe. There was no more denial in him, the stone giants, the goblin tunnels, Bilbo's frank and eloquent declaration...everything that he had seen and felt since he had entered the Shire had coalesced into one, undeniable fact. 

Thorin was completely, hopelessly in love with Bilbo Baggins. 

There was no other explanation. And now that he was being honest with himself, he didn't want one. He wanted Bilbo. And, if he could find a way out of these blasted trees and to safety, he would find a way to win him back. 

Then Thorin turned and had seen the triumphant look on Azog's face. He could not, would not fall to his death, leaving Azog behind in victory. If he was going to die, he would die fighting, a warrior to the last. 

If he was going to die in front of his One, before restitution could be made, before he could tell Bilbo how he felt and what a fool he'd been, he was not going to do it in shame. He would take Azog down or die trying. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that he would die trying. He had miscalculated, Azog was bigger, stronger, riding a massive warg, and he had the higher ground. The first blow hurt, but Thorin got up, determined. The second blow smashed into his chest and face, almost knocking him unconscious. When the white warg had picked him up and shook him, he'd thought it was the end. He only just managed to get his sword arm up to slash at the beast, but it worked, in that he threw Thorin away. 

Landing on the rock hard enough to jar his bones wasn't what he'd been hoping for. Stars spun in front of his eyes, and he hung on to consciousness by a thread. He heard Azog call for his head, he saw the orc that approached, from the corner of his eye he saw the weapon rise for the final blow. Thorin grasped for his sword, but he couldn't move his body. He was paralysed by the shock, totally helpless. 

Then a small red blur had slammed into the orc, knocking him aside and tussling with him on the ground before thrusting a glowing blade into its belly, killing it. Thorin gasped, his mouth working, trying to call out to Bilbo, to tell him to run, run while he could. He could not accept Bilbo's death here, not for the sake of Thorin's.

Thorin did not deserve such an honour. 

But the words never passed his lips. As the blackness reached up for him be was dimly aware of the Hobbit in front of him, standing between Thorin and the pale orc, waving his glowing dagger awkwardly, his courage far exceeding his skill. 

It was the last thing Thorin saw before succumbing to the dark, slipping into unconsciousness. 

 

* * *

 

He awoke to see Gandalf over him, the sky now bright and blue above them, the rising sun giving it an orange glow. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain the ability to speak. Or move. Whatever wizardry Gandalf had accomplished, it had clearly taken them far from Azog and his minions. 

“Bilbo,” he croaked, but nothing came out of his dry throat but a cracked sound. 

“Shh, it's all right,” Gandalf replied, apparently knowing what Thorin had been trying to say. “He's right here, and quite safe.”

Thorin shifted, rolling over roughly, with jerky movements. Kili and Dwalin made an attempt to help him, but he brushed them off, determined to face Bilbo under his own strength. 

“You! What were you doing?” he said harshly, his voice cracking with emotion and relief at the sight of the Hobbit. “You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?” 

Thorin could tell by the expression on Bilbo's face that he was doing it wrong, that his words were being misunderstood. Of course they were, they were the same words he'd said to Bilbo before, but then, he'd been convinced they were true. Now, he knew they were not, that he'd been a fool. 

“I've never been so wrong in all my life!” he exclaimed, his feet taking him closer, his arms reaching out to grasp him, overcome with the need to hold Bilbo in his, shaky, grateful arms. The expression on Bilbo's face had changed to one of astonishment, even as Thorin pulled him close, wrapping both arms around Bilbo's back and burying his face into the crease of Bilbo's neck. 

He breathed deeply, his heart pounding like a hammer inside his chest, so relieved was he that Bilbo was safe, so grateful that he'd come back, amazed that he'd defended Thorin so hopelessly. He held Bilbo close, one am wrapped tightly around his waist, the other buried in his hair as Thorin pulled back, only far enough to press his forehead against Bilbo's.

“I'm so very sorry I doubted you,” he said, pulling back further to look into Bilbo's eyes. 

“No, I would have doubted me to,” Bilbo replied. “I'm not a hero. Or a warrior.” He looked back at Gandalf for a second, before admitting with a chuckle. “Not even a burglar.”

“Perhaps not,” Thorin said, holding his arms to keep him close, suddenly afraid that if he let go, Bilbo would slide from his grasp forever. “But warriors and heroes are not the only ones who have courage. What you did...Bilbo, there is no courage stronger than what it takes to stand up for another in the face of certain death. I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay, especially after my appalling behaviour toward you.”

“Thorin, it's fine,” Bilbo began, but Thorin cut him off.

“No, it's not. It's very much not fine. You were right, I treated you as if you were only there for my pleasure, while holding you away with the vilest of words and the most inaccurate of excuses.” He took a few deep breaths, knowing that it wasn't enough...nothing he could say would ever be enough. He would have to show Bilbo how he felt, and that would take time. For that, he would need Bilbo to forgive him.

“I was such an ass, I...I can't even begin to apologize for how badly I've treated you, but I'm asking anyway,” Thorin pleaded, desperately, resting his forehead against Bilbo’s, pulling him closer once more. He closed his eyes, praying to Mahal and any of the Valar who would listen that Bilbo would forgive him for being such a complete and utter fool. 

“Forgive me. Please, please, amralime, forgive me.” He could hear the murmur of those behind him, but he ignored it, focusing all his attention on Bilbo, watching his face for any sign that his deepest wish would be answered. He felt Bilbo sigh and then laugh weakly, so he opened his eyes, a thrill shooting through him to see the cheeky grin on Bilbo's face. 

“Khuzdul won't work on me, Thorin,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I don't speak it, remember?”

Thorin laughed, unable to hold it back. The wry amusement on Bilbo's face was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. 

“I'll teach you,” he offered, ignoring the protests from behind him, his eyes only for Bilbo.

“That's not necessary. Of course I forgive you, Thorin.”

The only response Thorin could muster was to gather Bilbo in his arms and kiss him soundly, soaking up the taste and feel of him, thankful beyond measure that he hadn't ruined everything forever. To his delight, Bilbo returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around Thorin's back, his lips soft and eager. 

The cheers behind them rose as the Company members took obvious joy in their reconciliation, but as their voices trailed off and it became clear that the kiss was not going to end just yet, the clearing of throats and coughs of impatience moved Thorin to end it sooner than he would have liked, pulling back slightly, moving his lips over Bilbo's tenderly, with reverence.

“You realize of course, that I won't be putting up with any idiocy from you anymore...not a bit of it,” Bilbo declared, giving Thorin a stern, intimidating look. 

“I know, and for that, I'm grateful,” Thorin said, agreeing readily. “I need you to stand up to me, Bilbo. I need to you tell me when I'm acting a fool.”

“Every time?” Bilbo asked, his brow arched. “I'll never get anything done!”

The Company burst into exuberant peals of laughter at that, and even Thorin couldn't stifle his. 

“Cheeky,” he said, smiling at Bilbo without restraint. He thought for certain that his heart could not be any fuller, that it couldn't possibly contain any more happiness, but then he looked up and there, across a long, clear expanse of sky, was The Lonely Mountain. 

“Erebor,” he breathed, Bilbo turning in his arms to look. He heard the rest of the Company crowding close enough to see.

“The last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth,” Gandalf said reverently, and Thorin's heart swelled with pride. 

“Our home,” he whispered, holding Bilbo close as the mountain shone in the distance. 

Soon, he'd be there.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I totally love the whole idea of the One. Not always, but especially in terms of the Dwarves. It makes sense, given the rarity of women, and how many Dwarves never seek a spouse, that love would be a precious and sacred thing when it happened. It also fits the constitution of the Dwarves. They are unyielding, utterly committed and loyal, and their passions are fierce and strong. The concept of a One fits perfectly into their ideology, so I'm playing the trope here. I kinda like it. ;)
> 
> In a way I wished I could draw it out a bit further, but the movie timeline insisted that they make up, and who am I to argue? Changing things here and there will probably continue...gotta go with it. Thanks to all who are still reading, I'm enjoying the process, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
